


The Wish

by Cim0rene



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:40:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cim0rene/pseuds/Cim0rene
Summary: She wanted a wish to give her freedom.  He wanted to be free of wishes.
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	1. The End is a Good Place to Start

He stood before her once more, just as the stories had said, draped in midnight and just as cold as the crystal she held in her hands.

“You knew the rules,” he said, his voice betraying no emotion. “Win or lose, you knew this would happen.”

“But this no longer just win or lose, is it? It’s not that simple anymore. It’s not fair.”

He looked past her as her eyes searched his face, “It does not matter. Make your wish, Sarah. Go.”

“Is that what you want?”

His voice softened, but still, he refused to look at her. “We both know that does not matter. Now go,” he commanded, hissing through his teeth, “what more do you need. You have won, your wish is in your hands. Must you be so cruel as to drag this out? I can be cruel too. Is that what you need for me to scare you, force you, overpower you?” 

“Oh, Goblin King,” she reached out a hand and placed it on his cheek, so warm despite the icy countenance now; a warmth she knew so well. “Haven’t you learned anything yet? You have no power over me.” 

She took a step back, eyes never leaving his face, as she brought the crystal to her lips and whispered her wish with a smile.

****************************

She knew the rules just as any child who grew up near the castle did. 

They were the same rules that told her to walk, not run. To speak when spoken to and even then to be calm and amenable at all times. The rules that told her she could learn to read, but not too much, and exactly what her days, months, and years were to look like for the rest of her life. Years spent caring for brothers and sisters until the children around her became her sons and daughters so that one day those sons and daughters would care for her. 

She learned the rules in rhyme at her mother's knee and in the admonitions from hunched grandmothers who might not remember her name, but could always remember that friend or cousin who had heard but had not listened. It was the rhyme the rules said she would teach one. The same one everyone sang under their breath as they walked quickly past the parts of the forest that grew thin, showing stone walls in the distance and when they caught themselves, on clear days when clouds broke, staring at that tower that sat between the mountains.

_ Wishes can be dangerous, _

_ Fairy can be cruel. _

_ The Fae will steal your heart away _

_ And only wish to rule. _

_ So turn away, my child fair, _

_ And leave those dreams behind _

_ For nothing in the Labyrinth _

_ Will ever treat you kind. _

_ Go not forward, turn away _

_ Go back to what you knew. _

_ For if you run the Labyrinth  _

_ It will have power over you. _

Oh yes, Sarah Williams knew the rules… and they were not fair.


	2. Line Up My Ladies

“It’s not fair,” Sarah muttered to herself as she slapped the wet sheets over the drying line. Her hands were chapped and raw from a morning of laundry and scrubbing. The harsh soap, the soap she had spent all winter making, bit into the scraps on her knuckles and splashed into her eyes while she washed them, and now her shoulders stung as she tossed and spread the bundles out along in the washline in the courtyard.

“What was that dear?” asked a voice further down the line as her stepmother's blond head poked out from the billowing white wall of sheets around her. She too was wet down the front from carrying her load of sheets, her eyes a little red from the soap. Irene cocked one eyebrow up, the perfect arch that was both perfectly inviting and infuriating.

“I said it’s not fair.”

“Yes, dear I heard that part,” Irene stepped out, one hand on a cocked hip where her overskirt was tucked into her waistband. “What unfair thing are we talking about now? The weather? The laundry? The cost of wheat”

Sarah stopped, hugging an armful of pillowcases to her as she looked around, the weather was a beautiful fall day crisp and cloudy. “Wheat is cheap right now Irene, that is why I bought so much on the last shipment to send to the miller. The laundry? Of course not, I’d rather do the dishes any day, but no I mean the party. Must I, Irene? Can’t I stay back and watch the baby instead?”

Irene took the pillowcases from her with a little more force than necessary and looked the girl sternly in the eyes, steel grey bearing into evergreen. “Sarah, Toby is seven and hardly a babe that needs tending and we’ve talked about this. You need to be out in society more. You should be out more at your age, not cooped up in the shop or the storeroom.”

Sarah took a pillowcase back from her stepmother's hands, shaking it out with a snap. “I’m not cooped up, I’m working. That last bookkeeper we hired was an idiot and I had to spend a week fixing his mistakes and then the inventory needed to be cataloged and the receipts paid.”

“But you shouldn’t have to do all of that my dear, you should be out dancing and visiting and,” Sarah braced herself because she knew all too well the word that came next, “courting.”

Sarah hated that word, ever since she was little when other girls would whisper about their older sisters and their offers and the ribbons they wore and the chests they filled, Sarah always thought of sheep. One spring when she was little she was admiring the adorable little things at a spring festival in the village when she overheard a farmhand singing one of the little rhymes they learned as children as they herded their flock through a paddock.

_Come my dear pretties,_

_Line up and be fair._

_We’ll beg and we’ll barter_

_And get our due share._

_Line up my ladies_

_Be quiet and still_

_We’ll court you and keep you_

_Our pockets to fill._

Sarah had looked up as a group of young girls from the village were walking by, almost bobbing in sync with the animals around them. They were bright and fresh, with frothy white blouses and loose flowing hair, curls, and waves picked out so that they floated like a cloud around their shoulders. The boys started their song anew when they saw the girls walk near, jostling each other with elbows to the side of a friend and a new glint in their eyes and Sarah realized that she no longer knew who the boys were singing too.

Courting and keeping and standing still, just like little sheep lined up for market. She shuddered every time Irene used the word. She had tried to explain it to her but her stepmother shrugged it off. To Irene, courting was magical and romantic and innocent; the time in her life when she had felt beautiful and young. Felt like a sack of meal being bartered over and as the years had passed she felt less like a prize to be won and more like a leftover trying to be moved.

Her father had never pushed the issue before, he had been happy to have Sarah by his side working together in their market stall which had later turned into a store with glass windows and lace curtains, their home resting comfortably above with a courtyard in back. It had just been the two of them for so long and they had worked so hard that neither mentioned nor seemed to notice those years slip by. Her father had dreams for their shop, places to travel to and Sarah had grown up with his stories of a world to explore. Her dreams had been bigger than the village they lived in, and at night she had dreamed of places and people that never looked like the faces she saw at home and those dreams had never been framed by any talk of a husband.

Sure there had been boys here or there, Sarah had been busy, not blind. Little flirtations, kisses, and awkward explorations behind the crates in the alleys which she had enjoyed while they lasted and never mourned too long as they grew older and moved on to other girls. While she had enjoyed them as they came, they never felt quite right; never providing more than a momentary distraction which was all she ever thought to need. 

She had enjoyed her world as it was even when Irene and later her little brother, Toby, joined them in the apartment above the shop. Irene and Toby had filled something missing in her father's life. It had not been easy for thirteen-year-old Sarah to accept at first, but Irene had weathered Sarah’s moods and tears and outbursts until the girl tempered with age and they fell into a rhythm together that only grew stronger when her father had passed five winters ago.

And so it was that once, again Irene didn’t quite understand her stepdaughter's look as she brought up the dreaded subject once more.

“Please my dear,” she said softly, reaching out to take Sarah's hands in hers; turning over their red, raw hands together. “This is not what he would have wanted. He made this for you to be a gift, not a burden.”

Sarah looked at her, feeling that fire in her belly which used to erupt so fiercely at the woman's maternal inclinations so readily ten years ago, and breathed deeply smothering the flames. Irene didn’t understand that the shop wasn’t a burden, that Sarah loved what her father had created and trained her to and left to her care. Irene didn’t understand that Sarah felt closest to him now when she pulled his stool to the desk in the back, hearing that family scrape against the wood floors, and rested her arms on the same spots where he had started to rub smooth grooves on the edge of the desk and set her mind to the task he had so lovingly taught her.

But Sarah also knew now what she did not as a young girl check figures and unpacking crates by her father's side, that while she was coddled as a child and humored as a young woman, every day that past the whispers grew louder - where was the husband to sit at her spot in the backroom, to take over and to put her where she belonged? She knew that every day was borrowed until her father's contacts stopped pitying the young woman and moved on and it was not fair.

“Alright,” she said, her shoulders drooping slightly. “I will go.”

And ever so slightly the word around her squeezed tighter as the farmhand's rhyme taunted in her ears.

_Come let me lead you_

_To hearth and to home_

_You’ll be safe in my keeping_

_Never to roam._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome as we kick this "retelling" off, it might seem a little different to start out, but I wanted Sarah to be a little older to be past her bratty phase and fighting different battles. Don't worry, some things will be much more familiar... and hopefully, we'll get to him fairly soon. =)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Ordinary

Sarah was much too old for pouting, but nevertheless, here she was, bedecked in silk and gauze and poofed out sleeves that reached almost to her ears and way too many petticoats. Her dark hair was teased high into a poof on her head - the magazines from the city said it would make her look like the height of sophistication. Sarah thought she looked like a walking birds nest.

“I look ridiculous,” she moaned, arms crossed and a pout on her lips.

“Nonsense my dear, you look radiant!” Irene primped and preened around her. “Isn’t it just wonderful you and Cousin Annabelle are so close in size?”

Cousin Annabelle was Irene’s sister's daughter, the only one in a sea of what would generously be called “strapping boys”. Growing up in such a household Annabelle had learned two things - that her brothers had absolutely no interest in fashion and how to throw a mean left hook; both ensured that her brothers left her well enough alone when she required it. Annabelle had gotten married last season and saw fit to generously bestow her bachelorette attire to her esteemed cousin, knowing full well that her new husband would amply provide his new bride with worthy replacements. So now Sarah, a shopkeeper in one of the outer provinces, was now in possession of a great, and almost entirely useless, collection of ball gowns.

Irene had been waiting six months for just this night and had selected the largest and most ridiculous gown of them all. It shimmered with tiny seed pearls and glass beads and was made of layer upon layer of iridescent silk and while it might have fit into a grand gala in the city, out here at the local spring ball Sarah knew she would look ostentatious at best.

“Must I, Irene? It’s just too much. I’d much rather wear my green -”

Her stepmother cut her off, “Absolutely not, Sarah. That dress is a dozen years old by now and is much too tight and not to mention out of fashion. We must have you looking fashionable to make a good impression.”

Sarah was skeptical that she could make any impression at all if she couldn’t get within arms reach of anyone due the size of her skirts. Her stepmother hoped she would spend the evening waltzing from arm to arm of handsome young men, dazzling those around her with her smile and grace. Sarah knew that she was only a passable dancer as long as no one saw her feet and the effort usually resulted in her looking rather cross. Sarah did not want to spend the evening dancing, at least not with the same dozen boys and men she had grown up dancing with at balls just like this. Sarah wanted to stand with the other businessmen in the corner trading stories and tips and deals. She would approach them in this dress and they would assume she was there hoping to be matched with a son or apprentice for another dance. They would pat her hand with demeaning smiles as they lead her away, never seeing her as anything more than a silly little girl at a dance.

And that was exactly how she felt when they entered the hall that evening. There was no way not to draw attention as they entered in a gown like that. All eyes were on her and there was no avoiding it. The young women and their mama’s cast shrewd gazes at her, some hard and jealous while some simpering and conniving. Many young men turned their heads and tried to act coy to catch her eye. A few of the older gentlemen glanced at her too, with looks that made a shiver run down her spine and stomach tighten. The businessmen huddled in a smoking corner gave her no mind, leaving frivolous young women to their young sons and apprentices to weigh and measure.

It was not long before one of them deemed her a worthy acquisition and asked her to dance and with a pitiful glance back toward her stepmother she allowed them one by one to lead her across the dancefloor. 

By the third dance partner, Sarah had given up her furtive plan to bring business into the conversation. Her first partner, one of the banker's apprentices, seemed amenable to the discussion at first until he began to describe, in lengthy detail, how to best to keep a ledger and would not hear her protestations that she had been doing that job, quite well, since she was fourteen. He left her with a bow, a wink, and a promise that he would be happy to instruct her in anything she would like in the future. She scowled openly as he walked back to pats on the back from his fellow apprentices

The second was hardly any better. A skinny, sallow looking young cleric who insisted that the noises he continued to make throughout the dance were just a simple case of hayfever. He was less keen to give Sarah his own opinion as he was to impart the hefty trove of knowledge of his dear mother. Sarah almost pitied the poor creature until she saw him return to his group of cronies and pocket a small purse for his efforts.

The third, a stout lad from the docks, with rough hands and a ridge, singular eyebrow, seemed altogether shocked that she could speak at all.

She excused herself from the dancefloor to allow her feet a chance to heal and rid her nose of the smell of stale breath much too close to her. She moved, as discreetly as the voluminous skirts would allow, to the back of the room where large double doors opened to a garden terrace and the cool spring air blew in from the night sky. She leaned against a decorative pillar that framed the door, her back to the evening garden, and looked out across the room. 

The room was full to the brim, and groups mingled and gathered at the edges full of stern-faced fathers and chattering mothers while they looked, sometimes wistfully and sometimes sternly and the younger crowd as they twirled and turned on the dancefloor while younger siblings, old enough to attend the party, but not yet old enough to truly behave dodged and darted through any space they could find, draping themselves on stair rails and shimmying under tables to sneak treats and play games. 

The musicians struck up a familiar contradance as lines of couples formed quickly across the dance floor. Sarah felt herself step back into the shadow of the open doorway, hoping to escape the notice of any roving eyes. It pained her a little, for she loved this dance, the melody was entrancing; it was slower than most of the country dances in the musician's repertoire, meant for lingering touches and longing gazes at one's partner. But as much as she loved this tune she always sat it out.

And so there in the doorway, half in and half out, Sarah Williams closed her eyes as she sang the words that went along with the melody to herself.

_ “Come and dance with me, my love, _

_ Dance into the night. _

_ We’ll dance until the morning’s gold _

_ Takes you from my sight. _

_ Come and dance with me, my love, _

_ We’ll dance amongst the stars. _

_ I’ll set our love between them _

_ And never wander far. _

_ Come and dance with me, my love, _

_ Moonlight will be your gown… _

...if you’ll stay and dance with me

Until the world falls down.”

Sarah startled at the realization she was no longer alone. There was a voice, male and smooth, singing just behind her. It was entrancing, like moonlight on water, and yet all at once a shiver ran down her spine in something akin to fear, but the sensation was not altogether unpleasant.

She turned slowly as something in the back of her mind screamed warnings of what happens when fair maidens listen to dulcet voices in the night. Warnings of lost time and stolen hearts, and stories of the Gachanach or yet still she turned, not knowing what she’d find behind her and there in the doorway, cast in shadows and backed by moonlight stood an ordinary man. 

He was unfamiliar, the dark silk of his surcoat, which almost melted into the darkness behind him were it not for the silver embroidery that snaked up its lapels and round its color, was much too fine for even the wealthier men in town. A waistcoat of silver brocade peaked out and rested on top long legs wrapped in dark trousers and gleaming polished boots. A soft white shirt fell open where a cravat would normally encircle another man's neck and Sarah felt a small thrill at the rebellious disregard of tradition and conformity. The soft glow of the evening light fell on a crown of fine blond hair, tied back in a queue at the base of his neck though strands around his face broke away and floated freely reminding Sarah of thistles and bursting milkweed pods. The haphazard hair framed a lean face, with a sharp nose and a long, thin-lipped, but not unpleasant mouth. 

She did not know how long she studied this strange in the doorway as he hummed along with the dance, a soft smile pulling across corners of his mouth. She did not notice when he leaned ever so slightly closer to her until he suddenly turned his head to meet her secret, yet unabashed gaze.

And as her eyes met his, wild and incongruous, Sarah realized that this was no ordinary man. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out it's really hard to write fanfic in the middle of the apocalypse so this chapter is much overdue; due primarily to my brain's inability to think complex thoughts for most of the last few weeks. I still owe an entire New Years Eve arc to my Wheel of the Year Series and about half a dozen chapters on Home Again... but this is a start.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying this spin on the story - there should be a few things in this chapter that should ring a bell from the original, can you find them?

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a new story! (Don't worry the others are still being worked on and updated.) I don't want to call this an AU, perhaps "retelling" is a better term for it, there will be familiar and maybe a few new faces. I've had it poking around in my head for a while and am excited to see where it will go.


End file.
